MUNDANE matters
did not come to
a stand-still in
consequence of
the Disruption,
which with all
its fervour did
not produce the
millennium, but
rather strife
and bitterness
even among men
of goodwill.

It was a great
event for the
Glen and the
fanciers of
high-bred
Highland cattle
far and wide
when the
Castul-nam-Fiann
stock came to
the hammer.

The owner, one
might say the
creator of this
celebrated
stock, died some
years back, and
as the lease was
now on the point
of expiring, the
executors were
disposing of the
cattle by public
roup, the
incoming tenant
being as usual
bound to take
the sheep stock
over at a
valuation.

A
fold for the
sale was fenced
in close to the
steadings and in
front of the
homestead. There
was a great
gathering of
people round the
fence, but the
judge of the
sale, the
auctioneer, the
clerk, the
executors, and
some of the
gentlemen who
had come from a
distance and
were guests at
the house,
occupied places
within the
enclosure. Bread
and cheese and
whisky drams
circulated
freely among the
bidders, and
those who were
not bidders as
well. The
sister-in-law
and housekeeper
of the deceased
breeder had a
host of servants
and neighbourly
assistants
cooking and
attending to the
duties of a
general
dispensation of
hospitality in
the house.

Among the
neighbourly
assistants were
Jessie Cameron
and Mary
Macintyre. The
latter happened
to be sent out
to the auction
fold towards the
end of the first
day to ask the
chief executor
when the
gentlemen could
come in to
dinner, and some
other questions
respecting the
hospitality
arrangements
required for the
occasion. Mary
was brought up
among cattle all
her life, and
she thought
nothing at aii
of stepping past
the wild looking
but in reality
very timid pair
of shaggy
long-horned
queys which were
then under the
hammer. In fact,
she pruh-pruhed
to them as she
passed, and they
turned their
formidable faces
towards her with
bovine looks of
thankfulness.
Ewan, who with
others was
giving friendly
help to the
manager and
herds, was in
charge of the
queys, which
were disposed of
and driven out
while Mary was
still taking
instructions
from the
executor at the
auctioneer's
stand. Just as
she turned away
towards the
house gate of
the fold—which
happened then to
be crowded by a
number of people
half in and half
out of the
enclosure—a
three-year-old
bull with horns
of the widest
dimensions and a
shaggy hide was,
with much
pushing and some
shouting, driven
hugely against
his will into
the fold by the
lower gate. Mary
did not concern
herself about
that, for she
stopped on her
way to speak
over the fence
to some one to
whom she had
orders to
deliver from
headquarters.
Besides, it must
be confessed
that both she
and her gossip
were much
amused, and
their
watchfulness in
regard to
matters inside
the fold was
withdrawn, by
the struggle
between Ewan and
his queys
outside. The
animals had
never been
introduced to
the public
notice of
mankind before,
and they
absolutely
declined to
follow the
narrow way to
their green
field because
they saw a crowd
of strange
people between.

But meanwhile it
was more than
time for Mary to
get away from
the fold ; and
Ewan, bothered
as he was with
the bashfulness
of his queys,
and their
awkward manner
of showing it,
was one of the
first to see the
coming danger,
and he did not
hesitate to
shout out his
alarm. But the
warning came too
late—the black
bull had
already, with a
rush and loud
bellow,
proclaimed war
with mankind. He
was driven into
the fold by
people who were
strangers to
him, and they
used violence
too. He had from
his infancy been
tended
affectionately,
and almost
worshipped like
an Egyptian Apis,
by the herd who
had ever the
care of him in
lonely Fingal's
Glen. Which of
his race was
ever more petted
than he! Had not
the herd's
children been
his
playmates, and
had not the dogs
been taught to
respect him, and
never to fasten
their teeth in
his tail? And
was he now to be
goaded by
strangers, and
to be stared at
by a crowd of
enemies? Such
thoughts may or
may not have
passed through
the black bull's
thick head. But
whether they did
or not, he took
very little time
for reflection.
After
straightening
himself, pawing
with his fore
legs, and
kicking his hind
ones, he took a
sullen survey of
his surroundings
with eyes whose
red staring
balls were
fringed with
fierce fences of
rough hair; and
then in atwinkling
lowering his
head and lifting
his tail he
rushed at the
auctioneer's
stand, but only
hit the clerk's
table, which he
upset with the
clerk huddled
under its
fragments. Then
with a
thundering roar,
the raging
animal chased
the flying
people within
the fold before
him. Some leaped
the fence, but
most ran to the
upper gate, and
among these was
Mary Macintyre,
who, in her pink
jacket and
striped
petticoat, was,
as Ewan thought,
more likely than
anyone else to
draw upon
herself the
blind vengeance
of the mad
creature. The
bull was already
almost within
tossing and
goring distance,
when the outside
ring, now
crushed back on
the fence by the
escaped,
terrified, and
terror-creating
queys, was
cleaved asunder
by a projectile
that could not
be resisted. And
this projectile
was Ewan, who
vaulted, with a
mighty spring,
over the high
fence, and
throwing himself
on the bull's
neck, seized him
by the long
horns as he was
passing in full
career. The
onlookers held
their breath,
and ceased to
wink their eyes.
An instant of
confused
struggle, and
then beast and
man went down
with a heavy
thud, and the
cloud of dust
raised by the
struggle and
fall for a
moment prevented
the crowd from
seeing whether
man or beast was
uppermost. Next
instant,
however, Ewan
was seen sitting
on the bull's
neck, and ruling
him by his long
horn as a
boatman rules
his boat by the
rudder.

A
great shout of
joy and
gratulation was
raised. But when
he got time to
think of it—and
that was not
until he saw
Mary Macintyre
joining the
women in front
of the
house, who had
watched the
affair with
beating hearts
and gasping
breath—nobody
was more
astonished at
his victory than
Ewan himself,
unless it might
be his prostrate
foe, with whom
he was now
striking up
confidential
relations and
sudden
friendship by
soothing words
and gentle
patting. "Shoot
the beast," was
the cry among
some who had
been much
frightened. "Put a ring in
his nose," said
the chief
executor,
wishing to save
such a valuable
animal—the pride
of the herd—from
being converted
into inferior
beef.

An old
gentleman-farmer,
who had come
forty miles to
the sale for the
sole purpose of
bidding for this
identical
animal, and none
other, got up to
Ewan, and began
to stroke the
bull's neck, and
to suggest to
Ewan that he
should stand
between the
conquered animal
and the
humiliation of a
ring in the
nose, which, he
felt sure, would
make him vicious
and
untrustworthy
for the rest of
his days. Evvan
readily agreed
with the great
breeder and
knower of
beasts. So when
the manager and
others came with
ring and rope,
they were told
to keep off, and
the tamer of the
bull shouted
from his seat on
the shoulder of
his late
antagonist—"Clear the cro.
Keep outside,
and keep quiet
the whole lot of
you." This order
was obeyed, and
Ewan, being left
alone with the
bull, rose from
his seat, and
keeping a good
flanking
position,
encouraged the
bull to get on
his feet also.
The bull gladly
obeyed, and
after shaking
his hide free
from the dust of
strife, became
as quiet and
gentle as he
used to be in Fingal's Glen
with the dogs
and children of
the herd.

He
was sold for a
good price ; but
not by any means
for such a price
as he would have
fetched if he
had not damaged
his character.
The old yoeman
breeder was the
purchaser, and
to the end of
his life he
used, with great
glee, to tell
how it came to
pass that he
bought so
cheaply the
pride of the
Castul-nam-Fiann
herd. And the
bull, long
before he closed
his honourable
career, owned a
great necklace
of gold and
silver medals,
won at cattle
shows, and was
the sire of many
descendants that
have kept up his
fame to the
present day.

Ewan received
vast credit for
his prowess and
philan-throphy.
The prowess was
genuine enough,
but it was not
for mankind in
general, as
represented by
the endangered
crowd, but for
one girl in
particular that
Ewan risked his
life. He felt,
therefore, that
he was accepting
praise under
false pretences,
but how could he
undeceive the
lot of grateful
people, and say
he never thought
of being their
rescuer at all ?
He likewise was
generous to the
conquered, for
he maintained
that the bull
would have
prevailed if the
disadvantage of
unequal ground
had not helped
to trip him up.

By taming the
wild bull Ewan
got over the
ridicule
attaching to the
St Mungo Kil
adventure,
although, to
speak truly, he
saw nothing
ridiculous about
it, and was not
ashamed to
confess belief
in ghosts and
fear to meet
them anywhere.
In regard to
strength, the
pre-eminence of
the biggest man
in the Glen was
admitted, and
boasted
ofbyallthe Glen
people. But
there were many
young men from
other parts
present at the
sale who wished
to test him in
athletic sports,
and as the sale
continued for
two days, and
the evenings
were long, a
competition
between the Glen
young men and
the stranger
young men was
resolved upon.
Now Ewan beat
all at the caber
and putting the
stone, but a
stranger was
first at
throwing the
hammer, the
elder's John
coming second. A
stranger was
also first in
the racing,
Diarmad coming
second. Duncan
Ban, who looked
on and felt
vexed at the
strangers being
allowed to beat
the Glen youths
at anything,
cried out when
the leaping was
going on, and
three strangers
were taking the
lead—Pooh-pooh?
these are only
foolish things ;
try the bodach,
which was the
test in the
Feinne's day for
youths who
wished to be
numbered among
heroes.

The
bodach was a
slippery round
stone that had
to be lifted on
a pedestal some
three feet high.
It was near the
ruins of one of
the round towers
called "Castulan-nam-Fiann,"
or "Castles of
the Feinne," and
the saying was that
in ancient times
every young man
who wished to be
enrolled among
the Feinne was
first called
upon to prove
his strength by
lifting the
bodach. It was
certainly a
severe test, but
knack helped
strength, and
the lithe man
succeeded
frequently where
the heavy strong
man failed. It
is questionable
whether Duncan
Ban acted fairly
towards the
strangers, for
he knew
perfectly well
that practice
had made many
among the Glen
youths perfect
in the art of
raising the
bodach with
apparent ease. "But everything
is fair in war,"
was Duncan Ban's
maxim, when the
credit of the
Glen had to be
fought for. The
strangers
accepted the
challenge, and
were hopelessly
defeated. There
was not one of
them who
succeeded that
evening in
lifting the bodach stone
fairly from the
ground, far less
in placing it on
its pedestal.
Six of the Glen
youths were put
forward against
the six
strangers who
had the courage
to accept the
test, and every
Glen youth
performed the
feat with
seeming ease. So
the final
victory remained
with the Glen,
and Duncan Ban
was highly
delighted.

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